The Gift of Spring

I’m so ready for spring. It’s early February when as I’m typing this–I always schedule my blog posts out ahead of time in an attempt to keep on track. This post will go live on March 1, a few weeks closer to warmer weather and sunnier skies and hopefully a gorgeous thunderstorm or two.

But for now Miss Took and I are inside. She’s playing with blocks, building an epic structure that would have done the ancient Egyptians proud, while I do the work of being an author. I can see the sun shining through my window, the sky a brilliant blue, but it’s deceptive. It’s cold out there–the icy feel of my fingers and toes can attest to that.

I always have a long list of all the junk I’m going to get done when spring arrives. Plant flowers! Take long walks! Open all the windows and deep clean the house! Write at the park while Took plays! Entertain more! Eat healthier! The list is usually the same year to year, and my accomplishments on that list are very predictable. I’ll go to the nursery and look at flowers and not buy any because my thumb is as black as death. I’ll take one long walk, get a blister, and decide that long walks are for chumps. I’ll open all the windows and deep clean the house…only to have it destroyed by my army of four children as they come in and out and back in again in celebration of the return of glorious weather. I’ll attempt to write at the park and then remember that it’s impossible to put words to paper while you’re trying to prevent your three year-old from jumping off the tallest slide.

You get the idea.

Here’s the thing, though. Even though I know that so much of what I’ll set out to do will go poorly, if not outright fail, I’ll make that list anyway. And I’ll try to do what I can. Because that’s what springtime does for us. It makes us feel younger. It makes us want to try again. It makes us believe that even if we’ve gone through a season of life akin to a long, difficult winter, we can have a second chance at the things that call to our hearts. A second chance, a third chance, a fiftieth chance. That’s the beautiful thing about this life. As long as that fist-sized muscle in our chests continues its faithful, meaty thump-thump, thump-thump, we have all the chances we need in this life. Chances to learn and live and love and grow and thrive.

Happy March 1, sweet readers. As always, loads of love,


p.s. Rainshowers and daisies are two of my favorite things.


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